Concrete Angel
by WriteOnForever
Summary: Sometimes being a hero isn't enough. Written for Child Abuse Prevention Month.


Disclaimer: We'd be having new episodes if this was mine.

TRIGGER: graphic child abuse

Concrete Angel

"You did real good today," Barry murmurs in his ear as they watch the cops push Captain Cold into the squad car. "Couldn't have done it without you."

"Yeah, right," Wally returns with a roll of his eyes, but he can't keep the pride out of his voice.

"Really, kid, you were great." An alarm suddenly starts blaring, and Barry shakes his head. "Oh, _now_ it starts working. These banks really need to get their acts together."

"If they did, we'd be out of a job," Wally jokes.

"Never. Always people to save." He lightly tousles his nephew's hair, adding, "And Central City would be nothing without Kid Flash. Now c'mon, let's go home. Dinner's probably ready, and your aunt will kill me if we're late again."

"Alright." After a moment's hesitation, he blurts, "I love you, Uncle Barry."

A smile crosses the older speedster's face. "I—"

"Get up, Wally!" His mother's desperate whisper shatters his dream, and he groggily sits, wincing at a throbbing pain shooting along his spine.

"Your alarm's been going off for a minute now," she continues, shakily flicking off his clock. "Why didn't you wake up?"

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, fear nestling within his stomach. "Did Dad…?"

"No, he's still sleeping, thank God, but if he had gotten up…" With a sigh, she turns to her only child. "He's been so stressed from work recently, you know that, and he's irritated, that's all. It's going to get better, okay?" Her fingers trace the still-swollen flesh around his left eye, and a quiver ripples through him. "You better get to the Cave. Your friends must be waiting."

"Okay," he returns, feet finding the carpet.

"And don't be late tonight. He wants steak for dinner, and he wants it on the table at five o'clock sharp."

"Okay."

Once the door closes, he walks toward the mirror and inspects the damage. Even with speed healing, the black eye is prevalent, skin tinged with faded blue and green. More bruises cover his back, darker in color from the prolonged punishment.

He struggles to remember what he had done wrong last night, what had prompted his father to barge into his room just after midnight and punish him, but everything is a blur of fists and kicks, and the only words he remembers are _you stupid bastard, you _pathetic _stupid bastard._ Still, he accepts the punishment because he _must_ have done something wrong, his dad only punishes him when he deserves it, and maybe if he stopped making mistakes, he wouldn't have to be disciplined.

"It's your own fault," he tells his reflection. "It's your own fault for being such a screw-up. You can't do anything right, and Dad has to teach you."

The boy in the mirror, the one with the broken jade eyes and trembling bottom lip, only nods in agreement.

Cleaning himself up, he slips into his Kid Flash uniform; too upset to eat, he heads outside, silently repeats the excuse he's going to tell his teammates should they ask about his injury. He hasn't needed to lie to them yet, and the walk to the zeta-tube seems so much longer as he imagines them pressing the issue. In front of the transporter, a deep breath and a forced smile transform him into Wally the jokester, the person the Team expects him to be and the person he wishes he was.

"Way to just barely show up on time, Kid Dork," Robin says with a smirk. Everyone but Canary is already in the arena.

"Hey! Only Artemis can call me that," he protests, hand to chest in feigned hurt.

"Yeah, so watch it, Boy Blunder," Artemis teasingly warns, approaching her boyfriend. She kisses him on the cheek. "Way to just barely show up on time, Kid Dork."

"Hey! Not nice."

Her only response is a small laugh that fades too soon. "Wally, your eye—"

"Oh, yeah, fight with Pied Piper yesterday," he quickly explains. "Pretty bad blow. Misread his movements."

"Yesterday?" Domino mask hides Robin's bright sapphires, but Wally can still feel them boring into him. "And it's not healed?"

"Must've been one heck of a blow," Raquel adds, scrutinizing him.

"Ah, yeah, guess so. Ran practically full force into him." It sounds wrong, even to him, but the others have all turned their attention to the contusion and he has no other way to explain it and they can't find out the truth, they _can't_, he'll be punished so badly, his dad will be so pissed...

Black Canary's arrival proves to be his rescue. "Alright, Team, good to see you're all here," she announces, and the teens immediately take a seat, waiting for her instructions. "Connor, Kaldur, you two up first."

The day continues like any other, and Wally finally starts to relax, convinced that he's safe. It might explain why, when Robin knocks on his door after training, he says to come in even though he's in the midst of changing.

"Hey, dude, you want—"

Misconstruing the silence that follows, Wally jokes, "I know I'm gorgeous, Rob, but you don't have to become speechless over my beautiful body."

"Your back."

Realization grips his lungs, and he struggles to breathe as he whirls around, hastily jerking his shirt on. "Y-yeah, right. Pied Piper really was dedicated to not getting sent to prison."

"What time did you fight him?"

"What?"

"Those should be healed by now, Wally."

"They're getting better."

"You've never had bruises last this long, especially not from a Rogue." He shifts uncomfortably, something a Bat never does, and Wally's mouth is suddenly dry. "Wally, how did you really get these bruises?"

"From Pied Piper," he insists through gritted teeth. "Seriously, dude, that's what happened. So drop it, okay?"

Robin remains silent, fingers clenching and unclenching, a habit that Wally's only ever seen during missions that have gone awry, when civilians are dead and villains are free and there's not a damn thing anyone can do. Finally, he says, "Zatanna and I are going to walk around town. You and Artemis want to come?"

"No thanks. We're just gonna hang today. Thanks, though."

"Yeah. Yeah, no problem." He turns to leave but pauses in the door. "You're my best friend. You ever need anything, you call me. No matter what."

"Okay."

Nothing left to say, Robin retreats, and Wally sinks to the floor, legs trembling so badly they're almost vibrating. That had been close, way to close, he was so _stupid_, how could he have forgotten, Robin almost figured it out, God, he's so _stupid_.

It takes a few minutes, but he manages to compose himself. Artemis is waiting for him in the living room, stretched out on the couch, and he's struck by her beauty, her perfection, and he wonders, once again, how he ever got a girl like her.

"Hey, babe," he greets, leaning down to kiss her. "You still cool with just chilling?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice." She shifts slightly in her seat to make room, and he curls himself around her, chin in the crook of her neck. "There's a marathon of that nerd show you like."

"_Big Bang Theory _is not a nerd show," he objects.

"Whatever you say, Kid Dork. Whatever you say."

"Oh, you really want to go there? I know your weakness." He presses his fingers against her ribs, and a yelp escapes her.

"No fair! I hate being tickled!"

"Then you shouldn't have told me you were ticklish!"

They continue in this manner for a couple of minutes, Artemis fighting off his attacks, until she's flat on her back and laughing loudly. To Wally, it sounds like bells, sweet and pure and filling the air.

"Alright, alright! You win! I surrender!"

"Yeah, that's right, don't mess with the Wall-Man."

She snorts and punches him lightly in the shoulder before slipping her arms around his waist. "You're such a dweeb, but you're _my _dweeb."

He can feel a goofy, oversized grin cross his face, the grin he only gets when he's with her. All the Hell he gets at home, all the pain buried deep down threatening to drown him, all the awful insults rattling around in his mind disappear when she's beside him. The way she talks to him, holds him, kisses him…it makes him forget that he doesn't deserve to be loved. If she believes he's worth it, he'll believe it, too.

They stay cuddled together in front of the television, switching between watching the show and making out. Only when his stomach loudly growls does he detach himself from the embrace. "Probably should get lunch. Want me to make you something?"

"That's sweet, Wally, but I think it's a little past lunch time." She pulls out her phone and checks. "Yeah, it's quarter of five."

"What, it's almost five?" That's not possible, that can't be happening, dinner has to be ready in fifteen minutes, Dad's going to be furious, he's going to kill him, oh God, Dad is going is _kill _him. "I, I gotta go."

"What? Why?"

"It's, it's my turn to make dinner tonight. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Without waiting for a response, without even kissing her good-bye, he races for the transporter and speeds home, not caring that he's using his powers out of uniform because he needs to be home _now_.

A beer bottle slamming against the wall is the first thing that greets him, followed by his father stumbling forward in a drunken rage. "You stupid punk," he snarls. "I work seventy fricking hours a week to support you and your goddam appetite, and all I ask in return is that you make dinner. Is that really so much to ask?" He grabs his son by the collar and throws him to the floor. "Is it?!"

"No," the teen whispers. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Dad, I'll make it now—"

The kick to his stomach silences him. "It's too late for that, you bastard! You make a mistake, you get punished for it." His foot digs harshly into his son's ribs, and Wally gasps in pain. "You—deserve—this. You—need—to—learn—your—place. You—need—to—learn—obedience." Each word is articulated with a blow, and it takes all Wally's self-control not to try and shield himself.

"Rudolf, please." His mother stands between the kitchen and the foyer, twisting a towel in her hands. "The steak is cooking, it'll be ready soon. He's, he's had enough. Please—"

"I'm the disciplinarian in this family!" he barks, whirling to face his wife. "And if I say the little bastard needs to be disciplined, then damn it, I'm going to discipline him! You're too soft. Babying him like you do! He needs to learn to be a man, and there's only one way to teach him that."

"I just, I just hate watching you do this. Please, Rudolf, he's sorry. Right, Wally?"

Nodding fervently, he stammers, "S-s-so sorry, really, Dad, p-please, I'm s-so sorry."

"Sorry isn't enough! Now get your lazy ass up and go to your room. Your mother doesn't want to watch, she won't have to."

He sends a pleading look to her as he struggles to his feet, but all she does is shake her head slowly, tears glistening in her eyes. There's nothing she can do.

"You disgust me," his father growls, shutting the bedroom door. "You really, really disgust me. Lazing around like a little bitch, not giving a crap about your family." A punch re-blackens his eye, and a second smashes his nose. "I've been too easy on you lately. This time, this time you are going to _remember_ what happens when you disobey me."

He is slammed against the wall, head connecting soundly with the hard surface, and he's barely crumpled to the floor before his father is pinning him down and proceeding with his punishment. A thousand lifetimes pass, the world moving in slow motion, and it seems as though it will never end. By the time his father stands, out of breath, he can't even see straight. With a whimper, he starts to move, only to be kicked into place.

"You bastard! It's not over until I say it's over!" To prove his point, he resumes kicking him, concentrating the blows in his lower spine. "That's the real problem—you think you're a fricking hot-shot or something! Well you're not! You think you're a hero?All you can do is run, just like a coward! You dress up in colored undies and play superhero but you're not. You're just a weakling. You're nothing! Right?"

"Yes," he murmurs, eyes stinging, and it's true, it must be, because he's not as fast as Barry and he's not as strong as anyone on his team and he's not a good hero, not ever close, and he shouldn't have that title, doesn't deserve it, he can't do anything right, can't even make dinner, much less help people, _save _people, he's pathetic, so pathetic and weak and stupid.

A sob catches in his throat, and his father kicks him so he's looking at the ceiling. Contempt stains his features. "Pathetic. Crying over a little obedience lesson." He reaches for his belt and sneers, "If you're gonna cry like a baby, guess you need to be punished like one. On your knees, shirt off."

He hasn't cried during a punishment in years, has managed to maintain composure until his father leaves the room, and he curses himself for losing control now, of all times, when his father is already so angry, but he doesn't dare hesitate to obey the command.

Leather tears his flesh, over and over and _over _again, and hot blood oozes along his back. It's been at least two years since his father has whipped him, and it hurts so much more than he remembers.

Just when he's convinced he is going to lose consciousness, the belt lands with a thud, and his father's fingers are knotted in his hair. Dragged to the mirror, a shove puts him in a kneeling position, and his father jerks his head back, leaving him no choice but to look at his reflection.

"Repeat after me: I'm pathetic."

"I'm pathetic." Staring at the bloody, whimpering mess that is himself, he knows it's true. Everything his father says is true.

"I'm weak."

"I'm weak."

"I'm stupid."

"I'm stupid."

"I'm pathetic."

"I'm pathetic."

"I'm worthless."

"I'm worthless."

"Keep going."

"I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless. I'm worthless…"

Wally repeats that until it no longer sounds like English, until it tastes like acid on his tongue, until it shouldn't have meaning but it does because it hurts so badly.

Satisfied, his father releases his hold and staggers into the hall. Wally collapses, unable to even kneel, and the tears stream down his face. Overwhelming pain and his failure to eat all day render him unable to even crawl to his bed, and he passes out on the floor.

"Wally? Oh, God, oh, God, Wally."

Wearily, he opens his eyes. Vision slowly comes into focus, and he sees Dick in the darkness, sitting right before him.

"Wally, are you okay? You hear me? Please, Wally, please, dude, please be okay."

"I'm fine," he mumbles, speaking through busted lips. "I, I, just need s'mething to eat. I haven't, haven't…"

In a heartbeat, Dick is pulling a candy bar from his utility belt. "I'm going to help you sit, alright?" he murmurs gently. "You're going to be fine, Wally, I promise."

"Good, good thing you never leave home without that," he manages, taking a huge bite of the snack.

Dick remains stoic. "How long?"

"What?"

"How long have you been abused?" It's said barely above a whisper, but it's the loudest thing Wally's ever heard, and the chocolate seems to get stuck in his throat.

"I, I, I, you're, you're wrong—"

"Pied Piper hasn't been sighted in months; I did a scan. Typical bruises heal in twelve hours; I rechecked your League statistic report. That's why I came tonight, to talk to you. I knew something was off. But I never thought…I never thought it could be this bad. Wally, look at you now. Your face, your _back_, God, what have they done to you?"

"It's nothing. I'm f-fine, it's, I'm, I'm, it's not, I just tripped, it, an accident…" The words don't come fast enough, get entangled in his mind and trip on his tongue because Dick is a _Bat _and he _knows _and his dad will find out and he can't take another punishment, not now, and he's scared, so scared, and everything is out of control and this can't be happening, no, no, no, NO.

"Wally." Taking Wally's chin in his hand, Dick whispers, "You have to get out of this house. You cannot stay here. It's not right—"

"It's my own fault," he protests, ashamed that he's crying again. "I, I'm bad. I disobey and I screw-up and I, I need to learn, to be punished, that's all, D-Dad loves me, h-h-he does, and I just don't do anything r-right, I'm worthless and d-deserve—"

"You do not deserve this," Dick hisses. "No one deserves this. No one has the right to hit you, and no one has the right to make you think you're less than you are. This, this isn't love, Wally, and it will never be love. Your uncle? _He _loves you. And if he even thought for a second that this was happening, he'd get you out of here." He pauses for a moment. "If I'd known sooner, I would have gotten you out. I'm so, so sorry, Wally. It's gonna be okay now, though, I promise. He's never going to hurt you again."

"Dick, really, I'm fine." Smiling causes his scabbing lips to split. "S-seriously, I'm fine."

"You are not fine. Being covered in bruises and whip marks is _never _fine." Tenderly, he wipes away the still-flowing tears with his right hand while pulling out his cell with his left. "I'm calling Barry, he'll—"

"No!" Panic burns inside, and he makes a desperate grab for the phone. "You can't!"

"Wally—"

"No! No one can know. You, you have to swear not to t-tell. Dad, Dad'll be so angry, and, and Barry won't want me to b-be K-Kid F-F-F-Flash anymore b-because I'm too weak and A-Artemis will think I'm a coward and—"

"That will not happen," Dick assures him, yanking him into a hug, arms around his neck to avoid the closing wounds on his back. "We all love you, Wally. _Real _love. And being a victim does not make you weak. This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

"If I were good, Dad wouldn't have to punish me. It's, it's 'cause my metabolism and they have to b-buy so much food and he, he does so much and he just gets irritated with me when I mess up and I cost so much—"

"Did he only start hitting you after you got your powers?"

"W-what?"

"Did this only start after you got your powers?"

"It, it started when I was six, but it only g-got bad when I got my powers."

"It's not your powers. It's not because he's irritated. He just likes hurting you. He likes that control. And it's not fair or okay or acceptable. Barry needs to know. He'll take care of you."

"I swear I'll never speak to you again if you call him," he growls, trying to jerk away, and he doesn't want to say this because Dick is his best friend but he has no choice because he's going to _tell_ and that can't happen, Dad won't let them take him away, it'll only get worse, and he can't handle it getting worse. "I swear, Grayson!"

Dick releases his hold, only slightly, and meets Wally's eyes. "As long as you're alive to hate me, I'll take it."

The honesty behind that sentence strikes him, and the fight is drained from his body. He rests his head on Dick's chest and mumbles, defeated and scared and broken, "Okay."

"It's going to be fine, Wally," he promises soothingly, punching in the numbers. "It's going to be fine."

And slowly but surely, it is. Barry picks him up that night and takes him home, calling the cops on Rudolf after he's all patched-up and asleep, with Dick by his side. Justice League…influence is enough to ensure Rudolf taking a plea of ten years in prison to avoid a trial. Iris and Barry are the parents he never had, the parents he dreamed of, and even though he's way too old, he likes it when they tuck him in and write notes for his lunch and tell him _I love you _every time he leaves the house. He starts therapy, as does his mother, and they both get better; he sees her once a week.

The Team is supportive, always willing to listen. The girls are more generous with hugs, the boys, "guy time." Artemis spends every afternoon with him, assuring him that he is all the hero she'll ever need. And when she walks in on him one particularly bad day, kneeling in front of the mirror and repeating all those horrible things his father called him, she makes him stand and repeat, over and over, "I am brave. I am strong. I am smart. I am a hero."

He stops believing it's his fault, that he doesn't deserve love, and he realizes that he's not alone. Millions of kids are in the same situation; in America alone, five die every day, never knowing love, becoming nothing more than concrete angels.

That's why he's standing in Central City Park, plucking five fuchsia flowers from the cherry tree, cradling them protectively. He plans on doing this every night until people start to notice, until they wonder what have happened to all the flowers, until the perfect opportunity arises to explain that they represent the souls lost every day. Then maybe people will stop pretending child abuse isn't real.

Instead of heading right home, he goes to the tallest abandoned building and takes the rickety stairs to the roof. Under the dark sky, he gently tosses the flowers up and closes his eyes, keeps them closed for a few minutes so he can imagine that the flowers stay up there, living safe and loved among the stars.

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Child abuse is very real. Kids are suffering every day, never knowing love, and it's not fair. As a country, as a world, we can't let this stand. Donate to ChildHelp or write to your legislators.

And to all those who were or are victims, including pathtales and RedwingAndNightHood, you are in my thoughts and prayers always. You did nothing to deserve it, and you will find someone who loves you like you deserve. No one has the right to hurt you, and if they are, get away. Do whatever you have to do because you should never have to deal with that.

No more concrete angels.


End file.
